


Loose Lips

by booktick



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Self-Reflection, Unrequited Love, maybe if you squint, mentions of abuse, not sure what else to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: Loose lips sink ships or some other similar saying had crept upon Treavor Pendleton’s shoulders as a small child.





	Loose Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.
> 
> A/N: I do not know what this is but here it is. (It's sort of all over the place I suppose.)

* * *

Treavor had, from time to time, enjoyed the company of men. He did not shame away from it, nor had his brothers, despite his father’s encouragement to wed any heiress that was of suitable blood and position in Dunwall. He not only had the company of men but preferred it. Once, years ago, his heart held Waverly Boyle, of all people, on its’ mantel but she soon fell from grace as soon as he had and there could be no room for Boyles to lounge about there. He had grown accustomed to taking to the Golden Cat for his interactions, and though it did relieve him of his needs and his pleasure, it would not be a permanent satisfaction as it might be for Custis and even Morgan.

Treavor could not move himself to bite as much as his brothers had and did, that was not his style. Treavor was in favor of his bark but he would bite if need be, only when it was required would he, and even then, he favored secondary force instead of his own—this included his taken company from time to time. While Morgan lounged with anyone who took notice of his title and could tell him apart from Custis in any shape or form, Custis took to dallying with wine and cruelty. Treavor knew better though, no matter who hooked arms with Morgan was just as easy prey as they would be with Custis. Treavor imagined that the only suitable partner for either would be the other, while poor, little and melancholy Treavor would be left to mingle with the staff and the whales.

For this unwanted position in the Pendleton family, for the one he held in social circles, Morgan and Custis had taken to whispered threats of the Abbey at Treavor’s door. In the end, it would always be an empty threat and one that Treavor did not take to heart. Any slander against him would be slander against House Pendleton. He had, years back, found a bone charm or two under Custis’ pillow, not that he took to snooping as a job, more a hobby really. He had let the thought linger inside for a few days, give or take a week, of bringing it up to his brothers but he decided that bruises were not worth the trouble, as he did with future findings or when it came to subjects such as that.

Besides, it would only halt his performance in Dunwall’s circles and he could not explain away another black eye or swollen fingers. Custis’ had lost his temper the last time, swatted him hard and fast, would have done worse had Morgan not been level headed and had enough of Custis' antics for the day. Treavor had slinked off to the Golden Cat after that incident as well, much like he did of the late. He had sat neatly, bloodied nose from Custis’ enthusiasm from the first swing at his face, in a corner booth and let the courtesans whisper in his ear. Though, of the late, he did not take to touching and he had never been one to do much of talking to them—that had been reserved for his own privacy and, perhaps, Wallace.

Loose lips sink ships or some other similar saying had crept upon Treavor Pendleton’s shoulders as a small child. He would not let himself be the fool of his family, nonetheless of his family’s. So, he would sit and let the courtesans touch him instead with his hands in his laps. He would let them say all the right things, as long as he had coin, and he would drink his wine—though not enough that he had misplaced himself. A woman’s touch was nice and all, though he had seen the new Madame’s latest bunch.

Young faces, though their eyes, their eyes…would never be like Wallace’s. They would never let himself forget who he was in the moment, not that Wallace took much mind to it when he would tell him that. He had tried to say something similar, once, to Havelock. That ended with, as it had with Custis, a bloodied nose. Havelock would never have his trust, not completely, maybe not even a bit. Wallace though…Wallace was something else. 

When he would be done with the Golden Cat, Treavor would take to boat and leave shore again for the pub. While there, he grew accustomed to the bar as he had at the Golden Cat. One bar to the next, one bottle to the rest, it did not matter to Treavor—it had not for years and would not for years to come, if he were ever so lucky to have even that. Havelock would go on about how they needed to have this and that, that this would be necessary for Corvo’s escape. It was not as if they were dealing with the plague of Dunwall. 

This was a master of stealth, a creeping and crawling fellow who had, according to the papers, been trained by the best. He recalled Corvo hauling his own brother out of a party, the look of dread that had crossed his poor Custis’ face. Morgan had been nothing but embarrassed by their shared brother’s actions, and had not let himself be associated with the man for the rest of the night. Custis’ had burned Morgan’s suits, torn his curtains from the windows, and a few dozen vases became scattered victims on the floor. All in retaliation for being ignored though Morgan had shrugged it off, as he did most of Custis’ antics, and had said with the calmest of tones: ‘ _There will be more_ ’.

While Treavor remembered that this space that he filled now was not a party, though the act of removal was a temptation that wrapped itself around Treavor more than once. He had dashed away the thoughts, as he had tried to do with Wallace, with wine. Wine had never let him down as the world had. Wine could not be cruel. Wine would not leave him weeping in his bedroom after hours, well, if he was lucky anyway. He had recalled an outburst of his own once or twice with Havelock, it was always Havelock somehow.

He had made the mistake of buckling under pressure. His vision had blurred once or twice as he snapped at Havelock. He even grabbed the man by his forearm, tried to gather some courage that was left and demand to be heard. He had been drunk of course, wet with wine and a belly full of dread and hate. Havelock had told him he spoke like a scorned lover, to gather up some self respect, if he had any left in this moment. That things would be clearer in the morning, once he sobered up. Treavor had grabbed Havelock by the jaw, tried to make him look him in the eye when they spoke, equal ground. This forced action against the _dignified_ Farley Havelock had been one that would have had him backhanded surely had he been anyone but himself.

However, the man had grunted and shrugged him off as if he were from the Golden Cat, and not needed unless called upon. Treavor would not be ignored, as Custis had. He was just as much a part of this rebellion as Havelock was, as Corvo would be, hell, even if Piero. This usually ended with him in Wallace’s arm, getting the occasional encouraging pat on the back and ‘ _Yes, Lord Pendleton_ ’ and all that. After a good cry, he would shove the man away and smooth his hair out.

Treavor would wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, feel the rough sand that lingered on his tongue before he would go to bed or find another bottle. Wallace’s mouth would soon leave his mind and he would be at peace—if only for the time being. He would smudge away the night before when morning came, as he had previously, with pen to paper. Lord Pendleton is loyal to the crown, and it would not be a lie this time. No matter whom the letter was handed to. Dunwall would have her day in the Sun, same as he. He would keep his mouth shut about Corvo...for now.

Perhaps it was true, in the end, loose lips do sink ships.

 


End file.
